


after "What About Us?"

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, Smut, emotional smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 14:39:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13906161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: This is a single scene that I decided not to include at the end of the fic, "What About Us?" I'm offering it as a stand-alone piece.





	after "What About Us?"

Benson unlocked her door and stepped into the dark apartment, setting her keys on the table. She’d asked Rollins to watch Noah overnight; the apartment was deserted, quiet. Barba followed her inside and closed the door with a soft click. She turned on a lamp and faced him.

They stood silently, looking at each other. She could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the tick of the clock on the wall, the muted sounds of the city. Barba had left his blazer, vest, and tie in her car. He stood before her, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up, his hair uncharacteristically unruly. She had never seen anyone, or anything, more beautiful.

He swallowed, and she knew he was thinking the same of her.

She’d meant to offer him a drink, but held out her hand instead. He took it in his, sliding his fingers between hers, and she led him toward her bedroom without a word.

She kicked off her shoes and turned to face him. The only light was from the single lamp in the other room, but she knew every curve and angle of his face, knew the love that was traced into his expression; she could see the emotion shining in his eyes. He drew their joined hands up to graze a kiss across her knuckles, and she stepped closer, pressing her other palm against his chest.

She held his gaze in the dim glow, feeling the steady thudding of his heart beneath her hand. He tilted his head, leaning forward, searching her face. His lips brushed hers, light as a feather. She didn’t breathe. Again, his lips skimmed hers, and then the corner of her mouth, her jaw. His hand rose to the back of her head, the pressure of his fingertips subtle in her hair, as his mouth settled over hers. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

They stood, unmoving, their hearts beating together as they breathed through their noses, lips pressed together, eyes closed. And then his fingers moved against her scalp, breaking the spell, and she pulled her hand from his so she could hold his shirt in both fists. She turned her face toward his collarbone, leaning into him, breathing in his scent as he kissed her temple. He tucked the hair behind her ear, his other hand still light at the back of her head.

She smelled him, marveling at how much she’d missed such a simple thing. She’d smelled his cologne in his absence—the whiff of a passing stranger, the scent on a suspect, the lingering cloud around the perfume counter—but it had never been the same. It wasn’t just the cologne. It was _him_ , the scent a combination uniquely his. And she hadn’t just _missed_ it, she’d longed for it until it had begun to haunt her, until she’d begun waking in the night with the scent in her nostrils, until she’d cried herself back to sleep upon realizing it wasn’t real.

She kissed his collarbone, through his shirt, and then his neck; she could feel the rough stubble of his jaw against her cheek, could feel the soft heat of his breath at her ear. She pressed her lips against his throat as his chin tipped up a bit. She started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Liv,” he breathed, her name nothing more than a sough of wind in her hair.

She lifted her mouth to his, undoing the buttons of his shirt with slow fingers. He cupped her face in his hands as he kissed her; she could still taste the scotch on his tongue. She tugged his shirt from his waistband and slid her hands inside, splaying her fingers over his ribcage. He was wearing an undershirt, the cotton ribbing soft and warm against her fingertips. She could feel the heat of his chest through the cloth. She slid her hands down to his hips, then up under the shirt, her breath hitching as her fingers found his hot, bare skin.

He pulled his mouth from hers, and nuzzled her throat, his hands slipping into her jacket and melding into the curves of her waist. She could smell his hair, the faded aroma of his shampoo, faint but still lingering. Everything about him called to her, drew her to him, filled her senses. She wanted to touch every inch of him, explore every scent and taste, share every bit of warmth between them; she wanted _him_ , all of him, forever.

She withdrew her hands and pushed his shirt off his shoulders, and he drew back just enough to shrug it off for her, letting it fall to the floor. She couldn’t stand the space between them and immediately pressed closer, running her fingers over his ribbed tank top, up to the dark curls of hair peeking from the collar, over his bare shoulders, down his arms.

She raised her eyes to his. She could feel threatening tears, and she swallowed around the lump of emotion in her throat. She didn’t want to cry; she was happy, happier than she’d ever thought she’d be again. She’d wanted to touch him for so long, and she’d always thought, in the back of her mind, that there would be time. And then, one day, he was gone, and she’d spent a year trying to reconcile herself to the idea that this moment would never come.

But here they were, together. She could feel him, smell him, taste him. Love him. She didn’t want to cry, but the tears were burning behind her eyes. His hand rose to the back of her head, again, and he kissed her forehead, pressing his lips against her skin. The tears pooled in her eyes, then. She could feel the pain in her chest, the pain that had cut through both of them during his farewell kiss outside the courthouse.

She closed her eyes, and the tears spilled over her cheeks. He kissed one eyelid, his lips gentle, and then the other. He swiped the tears away with a slow caress of his thumb, and pressed his lips to the damp skin of her cheek; and then the other. His fingers were in her hair, lightly massaging her scalp. He kissed her nose, and then her chin, every move slow, deliberate, every touch light.

She opened her eyes and met his shimmering gaze. Her lips were parted. He kissed her upper lip. He kissed her lower lip. His eyes held hers as he covered her mouth with his. She pushed him, gently, backward toward the bed. She broke away from his kiss to shrug out of her jacket, and he lowered his hands to his sides, watching her. She tossed the coat on top of his shirt on the floor. She stripped her own shirt up and over her head, discarding it, as well.

She saw his chest rise and fall as he drew a deep breath, saw his throat bob as he swallowed. Her eyes had adjusted to the dimness, and she could see his desire in the set of his jaw, the glint of his eyes, and the space between his lips. She knew that no one had ever wanted her the way he did. No one had ever seen her the way he did, the bits of herself she kept hidden away from the world. No one had ever loved every damaged piece of her, had ever accepted every scar, had ever understood the dark corners of her heart.

She could see herself through his eyes, and because she trusted him implicitly she could, for the first time, love herself.

She put her hands on his shoulders and, at her gentle pressure, he sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at her, his hands curled loosely on his thighs. She prodded his knees apart with one of her own and stepped between them, covering his jaw with her hands as she bent to kiss him. His hands went to her waist, his fingers hot against her skin.

She pushed him backward onto the comforter, and followed, covering his body with hers. She could hear the soft whisper of her bra against his undershirt. She could feel his desire against her thigh. She kissed the curls of chest hair that had escaped the top of his shirt.

His hands were exploring her, moving slowly, softly—her shoulders, her arms, her back and hips, they slid up and over her backside, his fingers edging toward the junction between her thighs. She shifted, pressing her leg more firmly against his erection, and felt a small shiver pass through his body. She lifted her head and looked down at his face in the dimness. His lips curved into a smile.

She could feel his heart pounding against her chest and knew that he could feel hers. She kissed one upturned corner of his mouth, and then the other.

He slid his hands up her bare arms and turned her, rolling them over until his torso was covering hers on the bedspread. He kissed her, his tongue meeting hers as he urged her further up the bed. He shifted, and she heard the double thuds as he toed his shoes off onto the floor, and then he was trailing kisses over her chest, her breasts, her stomach. He unbuttoned her trousers, pushing the flaps aside, and she snaked her fingers into his hair. His breath was hot against her belly, and it was her turn to shiver.

He pressed his mouth against the sensitive skin above the elastic of her panties, and she could feel the smile on his lips. He slid his hands inside the waist of her trousers, his palms against her hips, and eased her pants down. She shifted so he could tug them over her hips, and thighs, and slide them down her calves, and then he was tossing them aside.

He moved upward to cover her mouth with his, again, and his fingers grazed across her hip, her thigh, the thin layer of cloth, and she shifted her legs to give him easier access. The pressure of his fingertips was light, there and gone, and back again, teasing gently until she arched against his hand. She made a sound against his lips, and the pressure between her legs changed; his fingers moved faster, rougher, and she tipped her head back, breaking their kiss, drawing a ragged breath. Her hands fell to the bed, and she gripped handfuls of the comforter on either side of herself.

His erection was hard against her leg, and she wanted—needed—to feel all of him. She reached for his fly, skimming her hands along his belly, feeling blindly until she found his belt buckle. He shifted his hips a little so she could unbuckle the belt, but his fingers were working between her legs, and she was quickly losing her ability to concentrate. It took several tries to fumble open the button of his slacks and push the zipper down.

She cupped a hand over his erection, nothing but the thin fabric of his boxers between him and her hand, and his forehead dropped against her shoulder. For a moment, his fingers stilled. He drew in a shaky breath, lifted his head to slant a kiss over her lips, and continued his ministrations.

She pushed at his pants, barely able to move them down his hips.

She made a sound of frustration, and he pulled his mouth from hers, lifting his head to search her face. She took hold of his wrist, holding his gaze, and said, “Rafael.” It was the first time she’d spoken since entering the apartment.

He shifted, pushing his slacks and boxers down his legs and shucking them to the floor. She took the opportunity to lift her hips and push her own underwear down her thighs. He tugged them the rest of the way off for her, then hesitated, meeting her eyes. She lifted a hand, pulling his head down to kiss him. His erection was free, now, hot against her leg, and she adjusted her hip until it was nestled between her thighs.

“Liv,” he said against her lips as he reached a hand between their bodies. His fingers found her slick and ready, and he drew a shaky breath through his nose. She felt his knuckles graze her thigh as he guided himself into position. He dipped his head, his lips skimming her jaw, and breathed against her ear: “ _I love you_.”

He sank into her slowly, and she held the nape of his neck with one hand. He trailed kisses along her throat and collarbone as he filled her, and then he stopped. They were breathing in unison, unevenly. He could feel her pulse against his lips at her throat, she could feel his pulse against her palm at the back of his neck.

He waited, letting the rest of the world go on without them. Nothing mattered but the two of them, joined together.

Finally, when she didn’t think she could wait any longer, he started moving. His motions were languid—unhurried, almost lazy—and she could feel the pressure building within her, swelling larger with each seemingly-casual flex of his hips.

She knew that the same pressure was building inside of him; she could feel his muscles trembling, tensing with each slow withdrawal. They both wanted the moment to last forever, but neither of them would be able to hold on much longer. Already, his pace was quickening. His breathing was ragged against her throat.

He moved his hand between their bodies, and his thumb found her most sensitive spot, caressing lightly. She gasped, her hand fisting in the hair at his nape. He was keeping his thrusts as slow and deliberate as he could, but she knew he was close.

“Raf,” she breathed, and he lifted his head to look at her. Their gazes met and held. She couldn’t say more, and didn’t need to. The pressure of his thumb increased, and she arched against him, pulling him deeper. She felt a shudder pass through his body, but it was the look on his face that was her undoing. “Raf,” she repeated, as the wave crested and crashed over her, stealing her breath and all rational thought. His eyes were locked on hers, and as he felt her tightening around him, he thrust his hips once more and stilled.

For a moment, neither of them breathed, or moved, and the only sound was the rush of blood in their ears. She felt him spill his seed inside of her, and she saw the tears shimmering in his eyes, and she pulled his head down for another kiss. When she pressed her lips to his, she felt the sting of tears in her own eyes.

Finally, he slowly slipped from her body, deepening their kiss to lessen the ache of withdrawal. He rolled onto his back, drawing her onto his chest, his arms tight and warm around her. She laid her cheek against the soft cotton over his heart, feeling the springy hair beneath, and listened to his heart rate gradually slow to a normal pace. His hands were tracing lazy patterns on her skin.

“I love you, too,” she whispered, turning her face to press a kiss against his chest. “Stay with me forever.”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Always. I promise,” he added, kissing the top of her head.

She relaxed against him, closing her eyes. They would have to move eventually, even if just to crawl beneath the covers, but for the moment she didn’t want to leave the security of his embrace. “ _Always_ ,” she murmured, and she knew that, with him beside her, she would sleep easily for the first time in as long as she could remember.


End file.
